


Private Service Announcement

by XYDamianKane



Category: DCU, Superboy (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Identity Issues, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Oral Sex, Smoking, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Hypothesis: Clark smokes for a reason, Kon maybe has that reason encoded inside him somewhere.Methodology: smoke your way through packs of cigarettes? profit?
Relationships: Clark Kent/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Private Service Announcement

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Don't Smoke, Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323618) by [harveyblanchet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harveyblanchet/pseuds/harveyblanchet). 



In his defense, he’d seen Clark do it first--hidden just inside a layer of clouds. There was barely enough oxygen to support a lighter's flame, but Clark managed to light the tip of the cigarette with the heat of his eyes. He took a drag, and the smoke curled out of his mouth like he’s a human movie star, or something close enough. Moody. Pensive. Kon saw a whole different person than Clark Kent or than Kal-El and as the world’s foremost Superman impersonator (if not by choice), he had to understand.

Kon figured he’d play the scientist rather than just being the experiment, this time.

Hypothesis: Clark smokes for a reason, Kon maybe has that reason encoded inside him somewhere.

Methodology: smoke your way through packs of cigarettes until something interesting happens.

It’s kind of soothing, but maybe that’s just having something in his mouth and breathing deeply. He finds his fingers twitching for one after a fight, and he has to know if Clark does too. 

Kon doesn’t know how it’s _supposed_ to feel. It’s not like he can ask anyone, because no one that could offer a point of comparison would be thrilled about him smoking. It’s not even a vape, like Lex has probably accounted for--it's Clark's brand of cigarettes. They smell kind of dirty and burn his throat. It’s exciting, and looks kind of glamorous, he thinks.

Probably not so much sitting--hiding-- behind the Kents’ barn, but what’s he going to do about that. He’s trying to work up the heat behind his eyes. The cigarette is in his hand, until it isn’t. “Smoking is bad for you, son,” Clark chastens, standing over him. Uniformed, no glasses. So it’s a public service announcement.

“What do you care?” Kon snaps. He didn’t mean for it to come out that bitter, but it’s too late to back down. Kon tries to get to his feet but Clark pushes him back down on his knees, pinned against the wall of the barn, Clark’s knee immoveable against his shoulder. Kon’s eyes trail up his body. Clark looks at the cigarette--so much smaller in _his_ hand-- and his eyes glow red, lighting just the end, and he takes a drag.

Kon opens his mouth to protest--he wants to say something smart like “I learned from watching you,” which is _explicitly, unquestionably_ the truth--but Clark tips his pelvis against his face. Kon’s face is buried in his crotch. He balances the cigarette between his teeth and pushes down his leggings. Clark’s hot, fat cock nearly covers half of his face. Kon can’t process that this is happening to him. He can’t say anything at all.

Clark blows smoke from the corner of his mouth and pushes, then hooks a thumb between Kon’s teeth, prying his mouth open. He’s already pushed half of his thick cock in Kon’s mouth before Kon can blink. His hands brace on Clark’s thighs, but it’s not like he can push him off. His lips stretch, it feels like no more can possibly fit in his mouth, but Clark keeps pushing his head back into the wall with his hips, fucking deeper inside. Clark has gathered Kon’s hands in one of his, the other holds his head still. All without Kon even seeing.

All Kon can do is try not to choke as it pushes down into his throat. Clark holds him there, nose buried in the hair, there. It’s not like he really needs to breathe, but he inhales through his nose. Then he starts to move, fucking Kon’s face like a fleshlight, without any kind of regard for Kon's gag reflex.

Kon hears it from outside himself: the sick, wet noises his mouth makes, his skull rattling with the force of it. It goes too fast, too deep to make him truly gag. And he knows Clark is holding back--Kon’s not quite invulnerable. Clark changes his rhythm, pulling most of the way out only to slam back inside. And again, and again.

“You got an oral fixation or something?” Clark mutters around the cigarette. “You and everybody else. Fucking excuses. You shouldn’t be smoking, you’ll set a bad example.” Kon thinks he’s talking to himself, but then his thrusts get impossibly faster.

He pulls out--Kon gasps for air on instinct. His face is wet, ruined. Clark takes a drag and breathes the smoke right in his face and smacks his cheek. Not enough to hurt, but it stuns him nonetheless. His mouth is still open for Clark to shove back inside. Clark’s given up using the wall as leverage and is pulling Kon’s head back and forth on his cock, his huge hands pulling impatiently at Kon’s hair as he uses his mouth. 

Kon realizes he’s wet: he likes how it hurts, he likes being used and degraded and face-fucked on his knees for his betters--his dad--

He realizes his hands are free and he has to put his hand down his pants and touch himself. He opens his eyes and looks up. Clark’s looking down at him and he looks--almost angry? But also close. He’s suppressing sounds--almost growling, Kon thinks. He must be close.

Clark takes the cigarette out of his mouth with one hand and jerks himself off fast and rough with the other. He puts out the cigarette in some saliva on Kon's jaw and, with a sigh, shoots cum all over his face. He pushes back inside--deep-- and keeps pumping cum down his throat. Kon swallows eagerly and speeds his fingers where they rub his clit.

Clark pulls out, wipes his dick clean on Kon’s face, and pulls his leggings back up. The toe of one red boot comes to rest on Kon’s crotch. Kon looks up, asking for permission.

“It’s a filthy habit,” Clark says in Superman's voice. Kon squirms under his gaze, surreptitiously moving to grind his pussy against Clark’s boot, but Clark sneers. He seems to mean it. And then he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> When the horny muse strikes, it strikes. Merry Christmas Kryptonianfuckers.


End file.
